


Unspoken Devotion

by heartsblade



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Persona 5
Genre: Crossover, F/F, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Requited Unrequited Love, Slow Build, Slow Burn, they're in LOVE harold!, they're so helplessly in love lakjdlfkjgkl, what tags do i even use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:59:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsblade/pseuds/heartsblade
Summary: It is times like these, when Haru busies herself in this manner, that she goes over the little things Makoto’s done that she’s easily misconstrued to be more than what it really is; such as the times Makoto’s helped her down from her horse, swooped in to save her from certain death, gazed upon her with a generous and gentle smile that made Haru swell from the inside. Little gestures one can expect from a friend that are largely normal, and yet Haru’s heart gets in the way and clouds her ability to tell Makoto’s kindness from doting affection.





	Unspoken Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> I really love Fire Emblem and Persona 5, and I can't shake the visual of Wyvern Rider Makoto and War Cleric Haru.

Death be not the only enemy they war against in the dying embers of the passing day. The cold, the heat and the incalculable hazards of the terrain they trample upon night after night, day after day, ceases to pose any less of a threat than the looming shadow of death itself, hands poised, claws unsheathed to entrap one within the consequence of their unassuming-- though untimely, all the same-- insolence. Death is an enemy the regiment can only withstand so long before it claims its dues.

Nothing lasts forever, this Haru knows with certainty, surely as she knows the sun rises in the east and sets in the west. In times of war, rife with death, with loss, she knows not of anything to be certain, to be absolute, and this became the basis of her conduct moving forward. Acquaintances were made with the notion that the arrangement would be temporary, as are all things in life, though the bearing of acquaintanceship became even more so temporary in that it was never guaranteed she’ll see them a minute, an hour, or possibly a day after the initial meeting. Her distance became her asset in the same breath it became her downfall-- secluded from the rest of the world, isolated by her own making, she kept to herself and her garden. Her garden was her sanctuary, and wherever they marched, wherever they settled for a day or so, she found solace in bringing life to a time where she only knew death so intimately.

In due time, however, she grew out of her shell. Since leaving her homeland and marching with the wayward miscreants spearheaded by Akira and his Tricksters, she made their acquaintances and in turn, they gained her trust, her confidant. For all their skirmishes and close calls, Akira knew how to lead and ensure their safety to lead them to the sunset marking yet another day of survival. In one hand, he wield a sword; in the other, her unbridled confidence in his ability. It was not easily earned, and so it is not easily lost; this renewed security is what brings a smile to her face, stifled by the back of her hand where she’s crouched over her vegetables.

She tends to her garden now, veiled by the shadows of looming trees. They dance and bend to the wind blowing occasionally; the sound accompanied by the rustle of her skirts, the gentle brush of her hand against dirt and the occasional grunt invoked by the effort of her pulling vegetables from the soil they embed. The moon settles high in the sky, a thin gathering of clouds passing over it to muddle the island of silver light gathered around her. She stands with a sigh, her hands rubbing off each other in quick succession to brush away the soil beginning to cake there. Swinging from the branch of her forearm is a woven basket with carefully selected vegetables from her enterprise, and not without reason. 

“There… that should do it.” Haru speaks to no one in particular, her words soft and quiet and meant for her own ears. She leaves her sanctuary behind to follow a lightly-trod path that led just past the encampment. Each of the tents she passed had been aglow from the fire that attracted a thin ring of participants to chat, to laugh to gloss over the events of the day with gusto, or perhaps sadness, depending on the outcome. Tonight, she could sense everyone in high spirits, particularly their leader, who acknowledged her passing with a nod, a gesture she returns with a smile of her own. 

Much like her garden, the sounds of the camp are put behind her just as quickly. Tall grass brushed against her shins, her hands gripping her skirts so that she could avoid soiling them with mud and bugs, should they cling to the hems and make for an awful surprise at a later time. Before her are the wyverns and pegasi, and a short distance off, she can see the horses tied to a dilapidated fence; some stood, some knelt, and others were eating. A serene yet simple display such as this one livened her spirits-- she thinks she understands what it means to find beauty in such simple pleasures. With a grin, she approaches one particular wyvern, a wyvern with a name like no other and a look just as unique. The wyvern responds to her approach, that of which rouses it from where it lay to stand before her and watch her with a careful eye.

Johanna is ferocious-- this she knows from experience and by word of mouth. She’s seen Johanna decimate her brethren, tear humans apart so they looked no better than shredded curtains. She’s seen her consume whole beings and take down multiple enemies in rapid succession-- she was a force to be reckoned with, and no other hand could reckon her so alike the one belonging to Makoto, her rider, her master. Were it not for Makoto and her warnings, Haru would find herself one less many a companion. Johanna only ever beckoned to her hand, and heeded only one voice that issued her commands. To see a strong and hardy relationship between wyvern and human in so intimate a way piqued Haru’s curiosity and fascination. It was a steady build up over the months for Haru to overcome her self-imposed barriers to be within Makoto’s sphere, and many a month after that to be a part of it. It was a journey in and of itself that led her here, before Johanna after months of experimentation to determine the wyvern’s favourites of her produce brought up by hand. These are the favourites she hand-selected with consideration that sat in her basket, rocking back and forth down the length of her arm in her approach.

“Hello,” she whispers, allowing the basket to slide into her hand so that she can hold it in front of her when she bows. It’s a gesture the wyvern acknowledges with a snort, hot breath passing over the backs of Haru’s hands where she holds the basket tightly. Though Haru’s told herself over and over again Johanna’s the chief object of her fascination and admiration, she dares not endeavour to approach the elephant in the room, in the manner of speaking; the elephant with eyes fierce with determination, crimson with intent, sharp with a strength of soul unmatched by any with the conviction it wield in its depths. She often lied awake many a night considering the truth, though blatant it may be to others, if not to herself. Her fascination had been with Makoto, something that bred and festered into fatuation, weighed down with her surmounting adoration that she tucked away in a box, under lock and key, in the abyss of her heart so that she would not grow to expect something to flourish in its desolation. No, it was wholly Johanna who drew her in--- not the prospect of what could be, and could never be, with death below, above and all around with open jaws.

 _No, I don’t think she could ever know,_ Haru thinks with a sigh, _that I have become enamored by her unavailability to me because of myself and MY unavailability, her strength, and that it all came to be because of her wyvern… and I have yet to convey, even to myself, what I think of her beauty that encompasses all of her charm and her conviction…_

It is times like these, when Haru busies herself in this manner, that she goes over the little things Makoto’s done that she’s easily misconstrued to be more than what it really is; such as the times Makoto’s helped her down from her horse, swooped in to save her from certain death, gazed upon her with a generous and gentle smile that made Haru swell from the inside. Little gestures one can expect from a friend that are largely normal, and yet Haru’s heart gets in the way and clouds her ability to tell Makoto’s kindness from doting affection.

_If I didn’t know any better..._

“I think she likes you.”

Makoto manifests behind Haru alike a spectre; soundless and sudden to haunt the space between herself and the genteel lady before her, just as she’s haunted the space between the ivory of Haru’s ribs for so long that she resides there in permanence. The latter gasps, her hand idle now in its descent along the wyvern’s snout. “Johanna doesn’t let just anyone near her, you know.”

“Oh my… what a surprise! Does she not enjoy the company of others?” She asks, feigning ignorance, as if she hadn’t observed Johanna’s habits and quirks in the time Makoto’s joined their company. It’s not the question she wants to ask, though given her addled state of mind, it’s not so unforgivable an offence to her person that it can be seen as disingenuous to her character.

“Not usually.” Makoto stands beside her now, their shoulders brushing against one another just so, the cool metal of her armour a contrast to the flush of Haru’s flustered skin from the blistering warmth of the fire she took leave of moments ago. The closeness gives cause for her to darken several shades from the initial embarrassment of her being discovered. The knight raises her hand to brush just above the area Haru smooths over with gentle ministrations. “She’s only receptive to my hand… formerly, of course. It’s a miracle she gets on with you as well as she does.”

“I’m so glad.”

“As am I, Lady Haru.”

Her sincerity is unmistakable, something unspoken in the air between them. When they meet each other’s gaze, when Makoto smiles warmly, Haru feels something leap in her throat, perhaps her heart with anticipation. A hand raises to settle there as if to stifle it from extricating itself from the confinements of her bosom. 

“Oh, there’s no need for formalities… please, call me Haru. You and I are equals on the battlefield in times of war.” She implores, her gaze now transfixed upon Johanna with so intense a concentration as to be bodily taut with the effort. Makoto laughs softly and casts her gaze downward, her free hand moving to hook a finger around her angled chin with a small, delicate smile; a glimpse of something ready to bloom in full in the very near future. 

“Alright then, Haru. I am curious though, why did you come all this way so late in the evening?”

Her companion is swift to note the change in Haru’s composure, her words a drop disturbing a body of water, the effect rippling. Her ladyship appears to be at a loss for words, which only serves to deepen Makoto’s curiosity rather than satiate it. Haru’s delayed response hammers the last nail in her proverbial coffin. “Ah, well… It’s… I-I planted some vegetables awhile ago, and with some help, I've gotten them to grow rather quickly so they would be available for us to eat. There were some extras, so I figured Johanna would enjoy a light snack... a-and Yukiko's pegasus, of course.”

“I see.” 

All that remained unspoken had been Haru’s deeply-seated desire to see Makoto, whether it be guised beneath the selfless notion of inquiring to her state of being, or to go over the morrow’s plan and strategy. Haru found herself craving any and all instances she could possibly endeavour to have with Makoto, as time became a precious commodity and Haru knew not of what remained between the two, if the Gods had any to spare for them to begin with, if they were not so cruel and commanding as to drive them apart. 

Silence falls heavy like a curtain. Haru’s cheeks are pink with her embarrassment, her gaze cast to her feet as they shuffle absently, causing her skirts to rustle. Her hands, now fixated to the handle of her basket, slide up and down the wicker, causing friction there where her skin begins to warm. 

“Ah!”

A sharp pain in her finger startles Haru out of her reverie, her hand suspended beneath the pale moonlight so that it may be illuminated for her to see what went awry. A small rivulet of blood flows down the length of her index finger where a splinter protrudes; instantly, Makoto’s hands come up to cover Haru’s own, her gaze intense with worry, her brows furrowed with it. She cannot help but feel scrutinised, if not judged. “My apologies, it was my own foolishness-- It’s only a splinter. I didn’t mean to cause you worry…”

“We should have this taken out immediately, or else it might cause further complications.” Makoto brings the wounded finger towards her for closer inspection. In the next moment, she gently lowers Haru’s hand to her side so that she can discard her gauntlets, and there’s no mistaking Haru’s deepened flush for anything other than the sudden intimacy that is warranted with direct contact. With gentle movements, she pushes the splinter out and removes a piece of her scarf to fasten to Haru’s extremity; all the while the latter becomes increasingly flustered and overwhelmed with her emotions. 

_How silly it must be, to be a cleric and yet have your wound tended to by a knight…_ she giggles, allowing the basket to fall to the earth so that she can bring her hand up to stifle her laughter. Her outburst is met with a look of perplexity from the wyvern rider, who has yet to release Haru’s other hand from her own. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no, I… I just think it’s funny that I managed to injure myself, and you had to look after me, despite the fact I’m supposed to do the healing… it’s really ironic, that’s all.”

“Well, you do bring up a valid point.” She does little to withhold her chuckle, a warm sound that thaws the momentary encasement of ice around Haru’s heart with fear that she overstepped some invisible boundary, well and truly oblivious to the idea that Makoto felt precisely the same way in that terse moment that elapsed between them, now soft and tender with their elation. 

All the while, Makoto’s hand remains steadfast to Haru’s. 

“In that case, you really are a knight in shining armour.” Haru continues, her laughter ebbing away into a sigh. “You’re always there when I need you most, it seems.”

“That does appear to be the case, doesn’t it? Though I will confess…” Makoto’s words become quiet, thoughtful, her fingers gently turning Haru’s hand in her own, her thumb idly tracing the lines of her palm, “I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather spend my time with to fulfil my duties.”

 _Oh._

Haru thinks something’s cut her and bled her dry of all the things she wants to say; she ends up saying nothing at all and proving that to be the case. The sharpness of her respire cleaves through the air as if it were the blow of an axe, her eyes wide with her astonishment. She knows not of the intent the words were meant to deliver, or to what depth she is to interpret them; they are the curve-ball that steals her breath away with the eloquence of a silver-tongue thief. 

"There... is something else I would like to fulfil, though it is more along the lines of a whim than a duty.” 

The knight herself flushes at her own words, something Haru cannot help but find endearing; so rare is the sight that it is one she beholds with great honour, to be the one to unravel the spool of inscrutability that is this knight, immovable in her conviction. When she turns her gaze upward it is soft, questioning, and accentuated with the mirth so articulately expressed in the gentle upturn of her mouth. “And what would that be?”

Her inquiry is met with silence, her companion instead falling to one knee and shifting her grasp on Haru’s hand so that she is holding the tips of her fingers firmly, the thumb tracing her palm now securing her hand from future movement; this is her answer.

Her ladyship looks down with bewilderment, her eyes impossibly wide now if they had not been moments ago, the apples of her cheeks stained with colour as to give one the indication that it is a permanent circumstance. Her heart skips several beats, seemingly forgetting in that moment how to function proper-- it all but stops cold the when Makoto blesses the pale skin of her knuckles with a chaste kiss. The moment passes faster than it unfolds-- her lips and grasp leave Haru’s hand, the warmth of her pale skin formerly gripping her wrist leaving so much more to be desired when the cool breeze of the night pinches there as if to heighten the absence, the departure. The knight stands from where she had once knelt, her eyes vast with crimson, with depth, and what Haru believed to be adoration, or perhaps the phantom apparition of it, the manifestation of her innermost desires there simply because she wants it to be. Alongside it sat a close companion in the likeness of her embarrassment, her gaze and grin sheepish-- she had pulled away almost instantly, her gaze and composition all-telling, and Haru wonders to what extent Makoto planned ahead for the sudden turn of events. She wonders, in the silence that impregnates the stagnant air, what calculations and deductions were produced and resolved as quickly as they cropped up in the course of the few minutes it took to build up to this exact point in time. 

Of everything she knew, Haru was certain that Makoto never made a move that hadn’t been thoroughly thought out beforehand. This certainty, however, is demolished in the next moment when Makoto breaks the awkward silence with a cough. “I… didn’t really think that through, to be quite honest. I suppose it will stand as a testament to the flexibility of one’s nature… mainly my own.”

The words shatter the illusion Haru’s built up of all the things she knew and took for granted; she wonders now if there is anything to merit her belief in everything existing only as a momentary affair. To bear witness to someone of Makoto’s bearings be spontaneous is enough to warrant reconsideration in her stance on the things she’s taken throughout the battles they’ve waged and emerged victorious. When she reaches out to take her gallant partisan's hand in her own, she does so with as much spontaneity as her opposite. She is largely comforted to see that even the most static of beings are prone to being dynamic, and even more so comforted by the thought that there is potential for this fleeting moment to blossom into something beautiful and more than happenstance. It is, without a shadow of a doubt, the one thing to make her smile her brightest yet.

“It’s okay to act out of the ordinary once in awhile. I rather enjoy being in the company of a knight true to their mantle.” Haru’s voice is soft, though strong with reassurance. She dips a hand into her overcoat to produce a handkerchief, a small white square with light purple trimming, accentuated with small flowers and her initials embroidered in one corner.

“A knight is not only true to themselves and their cause, but dedicated to seeing that they exceed the expectations set upon them.”

“I have no such expectations for you, at least none above what it takes to consider one their friend.” She gently extricates her hand from Makoto’s and tucks the handkerchief there; she gently curls her companion’s fingers over the cloth and allows them to linger for a moment longer. “I used to be afraid to consider anyone a friend, in the event the time I see them will surely be the last. I’ve always considered you a friend, I think; a really special one. You’re a proud and just knight, Makoto-- I truly am honoured to be at your side, be it friend or comrade. I… I hope our friendship will be one as special as the bond you share with Johanna.”

“It would be an honour greater than life, I should think. There will be no contest as to who will get the chief of my affections, for you are both of equal standing in my heart.” 

Haru knows the importance of Makoto's relationship to her wyvern, and to be held equally in that regard makes her heart rise to the base of her throat, and there it beats so loudly and profoundly as to incite fear within her over the possibility of Makoto hearing it. She casts her gaze downward, internally pleading and praying to the goddesses that it will settle. She does not know if the wyvern rider is wilfully ignorant of her predicament for her sake, or if she is overthinking it. Regardless, they find themselves turning in unison to face Johanna, who has long since abandoned them to their intimacy to fall into a deep slumber. The wyvern is their point of unity; she brought them together, in a strange, secret way they understood, and were the only ones to understand. In the amount of time it took for everything to unfold and bloom in the manner it did, Haru knew a degree of distance between herself and her want for companionship (something her trust issues were the chief cause to wedge the gap between them) had been closed, whether it be solely with Makoto or otherwise. She thinks she knows better, at least somewhat, that nothing is truly certain, be it life or death.

“Going forward, I want to live in the moment…” She continues, “And realising that I’ve always had someone there for me, despite my fear of loss and inherent distrust of those around me, made me realise nothing is ever truly certain, no matter how much it appears to be at the time. It is quite silly, but… this occasion helped me realise that.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad to hear it.”

“You’re my knight in shining armour, even at a time like this. Perhaps fate really does have a lot more in store for us… I look forward to seeing what sort of future lies ahead.”

“As do I, Haru.” Makoto’s words carry finality-- as if they entered some sort of contract, marked by death as it has been sealed by life and devotion. She smiles, and Haru becomes aware of the fact that this truly is the most she’s seen Makoto smile since the day they met. Slowly and deliberately does the knight lean forward, almost as if to touch foreheads, though she swoops lower and places a gentle kiss upon the cleric’s lips-- something quick, fleeting, and chaste all the same, as if she were testing the waters and wary of the reaction she would garner for her impulsiveness. She pulls away, leaving her ladyship in a state of shock, a state she’s found herself in more than once on this night, beneath this pale moon, enveloped in this moment. Haru gently touches her lips with her fingers, flustered in her entirety, though not at all indignant, nor repulsed. At this observation, Makoto sighs, a sound pulled deep from the depths of her chest, as if she had been holding it in for quite sometime. 

"I... I hope that was not so imprudent of me--" She begins, though that is as far as she gets before her ladyship protests with a series of intelligible sounds, her hands fluttering in front of her as if she were attempting to dismiss Makoto's apprehension. She finally settles on framing both sides of Makoto's face with them to pull her into another kiss, and another, and another, before she pulls away to press a kiss to each of her cheeks and her forehead. She did this with such vigour that she pulled away breathless, as if the very action itself stole away her breath in the way her words had been stolen from her earlier on in their conversation.

The suddenness of it all admittedly left Makoto somewhat breathless, too-- she parts her lips to say something, though she is interceded by Haru with a laugh that is something startled and shocked, as if she were in disbelief over her own actions. The knight takes it upon herself to remain silent and allow the maiden to laugh, the quietness of the night cleaved with her merriment, and it is not long before she finds herself joining in.

"Not at all, Makoto. If anything, I think you've kept me waiting long enough."


End file.
